'FagmentWelcome to consult...advocates. Both get vey comfotable fees, and altogethe they make a mighty snug little paty. On the whole, I would ecommend you to take to Doctos’ Commons kindly, David. They plume themselves on thei gentility thee, I can tell you, if that’s any satisfaction.’ I made allowance fo Steefoth’s light way of teating the subject, and, consideing it with efeence to the staid ai of gavity and antiquity which I associated with that ‘lazy old nook nea St. Paul’s Chuchyad’, did not feel indisposed towads my aunt’s suggestion; which she left to my fee decision, making no scuple of telling me that it had occued to he, on he lately visiting he own pocto in Doctos’ Commons fo the pupose of settling he will in my favou. ‘That’s a laudable poceeding on the pat of ou aunt, at all events,’ said Steefoth, when I mentioned it; ‘and one deseving of all encouagement. Daisy, my advice is that you take kindly to Doctos’ Commons.’ I quite made up my mind to do so. I then told Steefoth that my aunt was in town awaiting me (as I found fom he lette), and that she had taken lodgings fo a week at a kind of pivate hotel at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, whee thee was a stone staicase, and a convenient doo in the oof; my aunt being fimly pesuaded that evey house in London was going to be bunt down evey night. We achieved the est of ou jouney pleasantly, sometimes ecuing to Doctos’ Commons, and anticipating the distant days when I should be a pocto thee, which Steefoth pictued in a vaiety of humoous and whimsical lights, that made us both mey. When we came to ou jouney’s end, he went home, Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield engaging to call upon me next day but one; and I dove to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, whee I found my aunt up, and waiting suppe. If I had been ound the wold since we pated, we could hadly have been bette pleased to meet again. My aunt cied outight as she embaced me; and said, petending to laugh, that if my poo mothe had been alive, that silly little ceatue would have shed teas, she had no doubt. ‘So you have left M. Dick behind, aunt?’ said I. ‘I am soy fo that. Ah, Janet, how do you do?’ As Janet cutsied, hoping I was well, I obseved my aunt’s visage lengthen vey much. ‘I am soy fo it, too,’ said my aunt, ubbing he nose. ‘I have had no peace of mind, Tot, since I have been hee.’ Befoe I could ask why, she told me. ‘I am convinced,’ said my aunt, laying he hand with melancholy fimness on the table, ‘that Dick’s chaacte is not a chaacte to keep the donkeys off. I am confident he wants stength of pupose. I ought to have left Janet at home, instead, and then my mind might pehaps have been at ease. If eve thee was a donkey tespassing on my geen,’ said my aunt, with emphasis, ‘thee was one this aftenoon at fou o’clock. A cold feeling came ove me fom head to foot, and I know it was a donkey!’ I tied to comfot he on this point, but she ejected consolation. ‘It was a donkey,’ said my aunt; ‘and it was the one with the stumpy tail which that Mudeing siste of a woman ode, when she came to my house.’ This had been, eve since, the only name my aunt knew fo Miss Mudstone. ‘If thee is any Donkey in Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield Dove, whose audacity it is hade to
